


Signet of the Bear

by WhippedMeringue



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Breeding, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Handcuffs, If there's a viking kink I have it, King Kink?, Naughty Thief and Lusty Jarl, One Shot, One is very very dark, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Pseudo Daddy Kink, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Sneaking, Thieves Guild, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, You Know Ulfric has a Big Nord Dick, alternative endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-07-29 15:38:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhippedMeringue/pseuds/WhippedMeringue
Summary: The Dragonborn, leader of the Thieves Guild, is given an impossible challenge: Steal the Jarl of Windhelm's signet ring. A slave to her pride, she sneaks into the Palace of Kings in search of the treasure. Unfortunately for her, the Jarl isn't asleep.Comes with two endings: Happy and Dark, for those of you that like fluff and those of you who like a bit of trash.





	1. The Signet of the Bear

_ Where in Nirn was that damned signet?_

You had been combing through the Jarl’s desk, hoping that he kept the ring where it was used. The signet wasn’t among his robes or his bathing chambers. There were several rooms in the Jarl’s quarters, and you had been through almost all of them—except one. It was becoming apparent that it was in his bedchambers or, Nocturnal save you, on his person. You lifted the spare parchment paper in the drawer to investigate one last time before silently closing it. _Damn._

You returned to the antechamber, a room of cold stone warmed by a fire pit in the center. The bedroom was to your left, but you swung around to the right of the fire pit so you could listen to the large wood door leading to the lower floors of the Palace of Kings. The guard was hopefully still soundly slumbering, his mead having been spiked with creep cluster poison. His heavy breathing came in through the crack under the door, as comforting as a lullaby. _Suppose this is it then._ You crossed over to the bedchamber, listened for movement on the other side of the door, and gave the handle of the room a coaxing turn. With a gentle creak, it gave way to your touch.

The Jarl’s bedchamber was a maze of shadows. The new moon yielded no light through the small windows, a snowstorm blocked the comforting glow of the aurora, and all that remained were the embers from a fire in the far corner. You spotted a large four-poster bed in the center of the room. _Mara’s tits!_ The curtains were drawn closed, keeping the sleeping bear out of your line of sight. You rolled your eyes and suppressed a groan. _You can always count on an impossible job to be even more impossible._ You would have to be careful as you circled the perimeter of the room, and listen for which side of the bed he slept. You hoped it wouldn’t come to that, that maybe the signet was somewhere else in the room, but it was becoming less and less likely. You turned to begin your search.

Your body collided with the wall, knocking the air out of your lungs and shooting stars into your eyes as your forehead smacked against stone. _That’s going to leave a welt._

“What do we have here? An Imperial assassin?” Beard bristles tickled your ear with a low snarl. The assailant had twisted your left arm behind you and pinned it between the two of you, and his other hand clamped over your mouth. Your head spun violently. It dawned on you that your dagger was holstered on your left hip, out of reach, leaving you weaponless. _How did I not notice him? _You suppressed a swear. His moniker as The Bear of Markarth was well earned. “Who sent you?” He tugged your cowl from over your face and moved his hand to your neck, gripping hard enough to bruise.

“Not an assassin,” your voice came out in rasps. If you had been an assassin then maybe you wouldn’t have been walking around with your weapon sheathed, like a gods damned novice.

His hand tightened. “You sneak into my chambers in the dead of night, and claim you aren’t here to kill me?” As the most powerful and divisive man in Skyrim, if not all Tamriel, he was probably right to be paranoid. It was unlikely you were going to be able to argue with him, and given the way he was slowly squeezing the life out of you, the odds of living through the encounter were diminishing.

“If I hadn’t been watching you pilfering through my chambers, I wouldn’t have believed you. An assassin doesn’t waste time in killing a man. I can tell a thief when I see one.” _What?! _Had you really been that sloppy? Had he somehow left his room without you noticing? You would have moaned in shame if you weren’t terrified. “What is a miserable sneak-thief looking for here?”

At this point, there was no advantage in being dishonest. You were willing to tell him anything to keep the conversation going and his hand from crushing your throat. “Signet,” you choked out.

A low chuckle rolled into your eat, sending shivers down your spine, and you could feel his sneer against your skin. “A sneak-thief scaled the Palace of the Kings in a blizzard for a ring?” He roughly forced your head back, and you saw shadows and firelight dance in a sharp blue eye, just in the corner of your field of vision. The edge returned to his voice. “You must have been promised a great deal. Who contracted you?”

Maven Black-Briar had probably hoped you would die on the job, and if you returned empty-handed, that fatal outcome was still a very real possibility. While disclosing Maven’s name might lead the Stormcloaks to kill the vile woman, removing the threat, it was more likely that interested parties would simply find out the information had been disclosed and not only would you be dead, but you would hurt business for the guild. Also, it was simply in bad taste. “No one.”

His grip tightened further, “I will kill a pathetic thief without pause. Would you like to reconsider your answer?” Instead of rage, his voice dripped with disdain. You were only as worthwhile as the information you could provide. If only you had a weapon or something to keep him talking.

“I needed to prove I was the best thief in Skyrim.” Half-truths are always better than lies. Truth be told, you should have told Maven to stuff the request right up her wrinkly ass, but your ego had brought you to Windhelm just as much as the promised coin. You needed to prove that for all the ways that you and Mercer were different, for all the ways that you were the same, you were the best thief and deserved to be Guild Master. That was the goal that brought you to Skyrim in the first place, what had brought upon this miserable twist of fate. “Stealing the seal of the most guarded man in Skyrim seemed to be a worthy task.”

The blizzard howled outside the window as he seemed to consider your claim. After a few moments, he brought his lips to your ear. “Then I will have no qualms in killing you.”

The grip around your neck turned fatal and panic began to set in. Even though you generally avoided detection as a thief, this wasn’t the first time a mark had caught you in the act. Normally when you were caught you simply pulled over a bookshelf or caused some distraction while you escaped. In the worst-case scenario, you might have to exchange blows with a bandit or a guard, but per guild rules, you generally avoided killing. Twice you had shouted an enemy off to avoid a blade in the gut, but that was usually a drauger in a crypt, not a wall made of flesh and blood. Normally you weren’t facing down a foe who so clearly had an advantage. You needed to tell him something—anything—to keep him from killing you. “You can’t kill me – I’m the Dragonborn!” Maybe the response would catch him off-guard enough for you to scramble away.

His ever-tightening grip released for a moment. “The Dragonborn, missing for almost two years?” It was the first time you were thankful for the curse Akatosh had bestowed on you. “You are both a terrible sneak and a terrible liar.” He started to squeeze harder, crushing you against the stone wall.

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes against your will. You gasped and sputtered. “No, I swear! I-I-met you in Helgen!”

This claim did little to sway him. “That is known to many who heard of the return of the Dragon.”

What would make your claim credible? You couldn’t breathe, let alone shout. The fog of asphyxiation clouded your memories of that day as you scrambled to pull out something discrete, something only you would know. “No-no! We—we were—in the same cart together! And some useless horse-thief!” You felt lightheaded.

The force pressing you into the stone eased slightly, and the hand around you roughly pinched your chin and turned your face to the side. Hard features flickered in the warm glow of the embers. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. He surveyed your face, straining through the shadows. After a few moments of study, a slight smirk crept into his thin lips. “So you are.” A displeased grimace returned. “What are you doing here?”

Wonderous air returned to your lungs. You were used to taking small, even breaths to cloak your presence, but now you gulped it in. His question lingered, and you attempted to shake off your nerves. You had to keep some control in the situation. “I’m surprised you recognize me.” You couldn’t help the self-important lilt in your voice. It had been almost two years since your encounter, since you first saw the great dragon.

“It would be imprudent to forget the appearance of a potential asset.” Asset? Were their more dossiers about you fluttering around? If rumors were to be believed, most of Skyrim still hadn’t decided if you were a man or a woman. Had you started some of those rumors? Well, you didn’t think it hurt when you told some of the khajit caravans that you had met the dashing Dragonborn, a tall blonde Nord man that dressed in the skin of his slain foes. If this man recognized you, it meant that there was some organized information about your existence.

The tip of his thumb ghosted the underside of your lip. You could feel yourself shiver slightly, the adrenaline of your brush with death still lingering. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Although it was easier to breathe, your heart was still racing out of control, feeling his inscrutable stare reviewing your features, your motives. You swallowed hard. “I am, as you deduced, attempting to rob you—”

“Why is the Dragonborn working as a thief?” He cut you off. You couldn’t tell if it was anger or curiosity in his voice. Perhaps it was simply how his deep rumble always sounded.

Control. You needed to have some semblance of control. “Even the Dragonborn needs coin to pay for the roof over her head.” Your neck was starting to pinch from his grip. Whether or not you had avoided imminent death, you were eager to get away from the blasted wall. “Thieving is certainly less dangerous than fighting dragons, and I get to meet the most interesting people.”

Your joke did not seem to hit the mark. There was no laughter in his response. “The Dragonborn could easily gain a place at court in any hold.”

This wasn’t the first time you had heard that comment. Even though Brynjolf pegged you as a woman with sticky fingers and a desire for danger when he first saw you, he and all the Thieves Guild members were stumped by your unwillingness to bask in easy luxury. Mercer, despite his complete moral turpitude, understood that it was hard to enjoy the glimmer of gold if you didn’t earn it by being the best. Perhaps it was the nature of High Rock natives to be competitive, to need to win in any game, be it politics, power, or pickpocketing. “If I wanted to be fawned over in court like a prized mare I would have stayed in Whiterun.” No, you couldn’t stand to be in a city with a title you didn’t earn.

The Bear had now softened his grip, and you could sense he had begun to study you more intently. The hand that had been gripping your neck had found a stray lock of hair falling behind your ear and was gently threading it over a finger. “Why didn’t you? Balgruf has enough coin to keep a pretty young thing happy in his stable. I’m certain he asked.” You could feel the smirk in his voice, and his final statement was accusatorily lascivious.

“Besides that condescending question?” Again, not the first time you had heard that observation. Worse was that there was truth in it. The Jarl of Whiterun had been uncomfortably eager to see you cared for in his court, assigning you a housecarl after only a week in the city. Considering your current predicament, you mused briefly that maybe you should have brought the stoic brunette with you—Lila or something?—and then maybe you would have someone to keep you out of these sorts of situations. You did not appreciate his insinuation, regardless, and decided he deserved to get what he gave. “Someone would eventually try to force me to fight in this foolish war.” The war had not really been your primary reason for fleeing the spotlight, but it certainly had kept you below ground once you had joined Skyrim’s underworld. Before arriving at the border, you were only vaguely aware of the war. Now you encountered patrols along the road no matter where you went.

He ignored your insult. “Avoiding an honorable endeavor.”

The man’s self-righteousness was insufferable. You had seen the families torn apart by the war. You were no priestess, but you hated the battle. “There is nothing honorable about killing men for the most absurd cock measuring contest in history.”

The hand which had been lazily inspecting a lock of hair returned swiftly back to your neck, pushing your head to lie back along his shoulders. “You forget your place, little thief.”

You spat back at him, unable to resist digging into the new point of vulnerability. “I know that there is no place for me among your racist ranks. Only ‘true sons and daughters of Skyrim,’ right?” Every Stormcloak you met had spoken the same propaganda. It didn’t escape your notice that they always said ‘If you know any,’ making it clear they were not referring to you. Even with some Nord blood in your veins, you found that the intolerable northerners could sense foreigners with some sort of twisted sixth sense.

“Loyalty is my only concern. Your place in our ranks could turn the tide.” He released your neck, but his hand didn’t wander far, resting in the hollow of your collarbone. It was clear he was deflecting, but that he also recognized the truth of your remark. You started to wonder if this characteristic of the rebellion started with its leader.

“I am not fighting in your war, Nord.” That was the last you were talking about that possibility. At least, it was the last you were going to discuss it while pinned against a wall. “Now, either let me go on my way or call on your guards to haul my ass off to a cell. I am beginning to find this very uncomfortable.”

The Bear returned his attention to the stray lock of hair, chuckling. “For you perhaps. I have the Dragonborn beneath me and I am not of a mind to change that.”

The tell-tale burn of flush came to your cheeks, but you wouldn’t let yourself be distracted from your goal. You really were very uncomfortable. “I could shout my way out.”

You felt his breath on the patch of skin just below your ear, raising goose-pimples. “I would love to see you do so. A powerful woman is a lovely thing.”

“My neck is cramping.” Really, very, very uncomfortable.

“The buckles of your cuirass are digging into my skin. A necessary sacrifice.” If that was the case, he probably wasn’t wearing clothes. Gods.

“Are we going to stay like this indefinitely then? I’m sure your housecarl will start to worry.” That’s right, you weren’t distracted at all by the way his hand had started to trace circles down the side of your arm, teasing you through the fabric.

You heard him bury his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply. Your traitorous blush was back with a vengeance. “I see no problem holding a lovely woman through the night.”

“Gods, you are stubborn!,” you whined, your head rolling back against his shoulder.

He took advantage of your exposed throat to breathe in the smell of your skin, like a wolf searching for the scent gland on a bitch. You could feel the bristles of his short beard rough along the sensitive skin. “A good leader is patient.” The hand that had been running along your arm moved to your hip. He traced the stitching of the leather up along your waist in an unbearably slow manner, stopping just short of the bottom of your breasts before traveling down again.

The smile he was making against your neck was contagious, “Then we are at an impasse.”

“Time is an excellent way to bring an enemy to her knees. Though, there are other ways.” His words did make your knees tremble, which you were certain was his intention.

You were desperate, but you were no longer certain what you were desperate for. “How do I get you to let me go?”

“You know the answer to that, little thief.” You felt his lips press into the shell of your ear again, his voice hushed and dark. “Submit.”

The word was full of power, hunger, and lust. Teeth scraped against your neck, and he dug his fingers into your hip bone, pulling you tight. You couldn’t help but offer your neck to his ministrations. His tongue made a languid stroke up to your earlobe which he pulled with his teeth. The sensation made your hips rock back against him reflexively, and you could feel him stiffen against you. Instead of a growing bulge pressing against you, you noticed that something twitched and pressed down the length of your ass, lifting up against it. Was he naked? “Submit to me, Dovahkiin.” His words were fire low in your belly. Part of you wanted to submit, to let him claim you then and there, but your ego, the same thing that had brought you to the palace in the first place, couldn’t let him win without a fight.

“Make me.”

He spun you around, pulling your arms overhead and slamming your back to the wall. “You are going to regret that, little thief. I’m going to tear you apart.” The threat made you ache. His lips came crashing down on yours, forcing his tongue between your lips without ceremony. It was sweet with the taste of malt and flesh as it explored your mouth, tangling itself around your own tongue. The kiss wasn’t desperate, but experienced, as if he could tell exactly when you wanted to open your mouth to his, or when you needed his lips against yours. He sucked and nipped at your lips, his beard rough against your chin.

While one hand grasped your wrists tight just above your head, his other hand made quick work of the buckles on your cuirass. Your chest lay exposed, breasts covered only by a thin layer of cotton. He began kneading one, letting his thumb pass over the quickly hardening peaks, making you sigh into his mouth. The cotton served as a cruel barrier between his rough hands and your heavy, aching breasts, and you lifted your chest towards him to create any friction you could. He must have sensed your frustration as he quickly ripped the garment down. It was at this moment that he pulled away from his assault on your mouth to admire you in the firelight.

“What a pretty little sneak-thief you are.” He licked his lips as he began rolling a nipple between his thumb and finger. You couldn’t help but moan as he tugged it firmly, arching your hips into his.

You tried to make out his body in the dark, longing to see more than just the outlines of his massive body. From what you could see, he had muscles hardened from years of war and surviving the cold land, enviable to any young soldier. His length had managed to find its way between your bodies, pressed against your stomach, but your vision was once again obscured as he leaned down and begin to kiss your breasts. He didn’t immediately move to your sensitive buds, but instead took his time kissing the full expanse of the globe, letting his hand move to your backside again. With a firm grip, he moved your hips to make gentle circles against him, and he started to grind against you in kind. It was the subtlest of motions, not enough to sate your desire for his body: he meant to tease you, to make you beg.

“I never considered you an indirect type of man,” you baited him with a hoarse whisper. He could feel him chuckle into your chest but he didn’t respond. Instead, he finally took your nipple in his mouth and started to gently suck. You bit back a moan. Every move he made was calculated to simultaneously pleasure you and leave you desperate for more. He started to flick his tongue quickly as he sucked, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to your core. Sensing that you were losing territory you couldn’t help but tease him. “I hardly call it submission if you don’t even let me fight back.”

His response was a sharp bite. You cried out, surprised by the pain, almost too painful to be pleasurable. Almost. Knowing that he had your attention, he gently released the bud from his teeth and gave a few wet, soothing licks. He brought his face to yours again, his eye boring into yours. “If you mean to fight me, Dragonborn, I will do with you as I please.” He leaned into nibble at your ear. “But if you mean to please me, I may grant a request.” To emphasize his point, he brought one of your arms down, guiding your hand down to brush against his length. “Will you please me?” His hand wrapped around yours and moved you to stroke him.

You had appreciated what you sensed of him before, but now that you could feel it in your hand, you were ensorcelled. Your fingertips barely connected as you gripped him. A soft pant escaped your lips as you imagined him hilted inside you. “If you really want me to please you, Stormcloak, you don’t want me to submit.” You gripped him firmly, pumping his length a few times, then palmed the head of his cock. The Jarl scowled as he thrust into your touch. The grip on your trapped hand softened, but not before he bit hard on your shoulder.

“You will learn your place and call me ‘Lord’ before this night is done.”

His great hands pulled you into a feverish embrace, one weaving into your hair, the other grabbing your ass. The kiss you shared was hungry and savage, your tongues making war. With both hands now free, your fingers roamed the plains of his chest. The hard feelings of his muscle had little give, but you finally found a chink in his armor as you slid your thumb over his nipple. The groan he left in your mouth was intoxicating and you were desperate for more.

“I need to see you clearly, Stormcloak.” Hands on his chest, you pushed him back towards his bed, into the light of the fire. Soon you had him against one of the posts of his bed, and you could finally get a better view of him. By the Divines, he was almost more beast than man. Your mouth-watering, you began to lower yourself in front of him. Now it was your turn to make him submit.

Once you were on your knees, you were positioned just below his length, reminding you how colossal he was. Even the globes of his scrotum were divine. Light blond and salt colored hair covered his body, soft in ways you didn’t expect. Hungry to taste him, you placed a kiss on his balls and started to lick and suck at them like candy. The hand in your hair pulled tight on your scalp. You were in control, and you were going to show him that was what he wanted. You weren’t a little girl to simply lap at his cock demurely. No, you knew all the spots that could make a man grovel. You pulled the underside of his cock up with your thumb and sucked at the juncture of his balls and his manhood. The Bear bucked his hips, moaning in response to your attention. After lapping and kissing, you finally made a long lick up, following the path of your thumb, and greedily took him into your mouth. Your lips stung slightly as he stretched you open, but in moments, he was pressed against the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

“By Talos!” Both of his hands grabbed at your skull in blasphemous desperation. The gag had made your mouth sopping wet, and you fervently made use of it, using one hand to pump what your mouth couldn’t cover as you slid your lips up and down. The Jarl started to roll his hips in time with your mouth as if to feel every inch. You could only imagine how you looked, on your knees, head bobbing along his cock, spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth, hair bunched tightly in the Jarl of Windhelm’s fists. The thought of it had your slit weeping. His words quickly turned from soft purrs of appreciation to snarls of desperation, his sac growing taut with the promise of release.

As soon as you felt this, you pulled back, ceasing your fevered attentions. You said nothing as you smiled up at him, letting his throbbing cock and the heavy leak of precum at its tip make your point. He clearly knew what you meant, with the way he roared. “If you think you can tease your king without consequences, you are mistaken.”

You raised an eyebrow, never letting the cocky smile leave your lips. “Show me my king, and I will be certain to apologize to him, Stormcloak.”

Gripping you roughly by the arms, Ulfric dragged you up and threw you down on the bed, stomach up. “You will be begging me to be your king soon enough, little girl.” Hands that had taken armor on and off for many years had no difficulty tugging off your boots and unlacing your breeches. He threw your ankles over his shoulder as he firmly gripped the waistband, peeling them up and off with little effort, leaving your undergarments on.

Lying on your back, you had ample opportunity to admire the Bear. Every muscle was swollen and firm as if there had never been a day when he hadn’t swung and an axe or a sword. His pale skin was covered in battle scars, but they hardly mattered among the clear lines of musculature. In fact, they made him more mouth-watering. And nestled in between thighs the size of tree trunks was a thick, fat cock Sanguine would be proud of. Damn, you imagined even the daedric prince himself would be begging to ride the Jarl of Windhelm. It had only been determination and enthusiasm that let you wrap your lips around it, an enthusiasm your gluttonous pussy shared. The smirk on the Jarl’s face when you finally returned your gaze to his told you he had caught your stares.

He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs, draping your thighs over his. Leaning forward, he let the head of his cock press against your opening, teasing you through your undergarment. “Is this what you want?” You bit your lip, refusing to answer. He pushed himself against your entrance, the delicious pressure making your center pulse. “If you want my cock, you must yield. Will you yield to me, Dovahkiin?” The tremor of the Voice pulsed out of the last word, or perhaps it was simply the raw lust that made your body shiver. You could feel a puddle forming in your undergarments as he ground against you. 

“I don’t think I could take that thing even if I did yield.” Your eyes were trained on every move his hips made, watching desperately as he frotted against you. You would take that cock if it killed you. You would die in ecstasy on it.

Ulfric leaned forward, his lips hovering just above yours as he gripped the seam of your loincloth. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re ready, little thief.” He ripped the garment apart as your mouths collided again, teeth and tongues dragging out moans. When he pulled back, the flush in his face was delectable. You wondered how many had seen the Great Bear of Markarth like this: sweaty, red, hooded eyelids, and lips plump from kissing.

He shifted down to settle in between your legs, moving those lips to kiss and nibble at your inner thighs, beard scraping along the delicate skin. You squirmed at the agonizing pace he took to reach your mound, fingers gripping into his thick shoulders. His large thumbs pulled the lips apart wide, but instead of lavishing you with the attention you so needed, he stilled, letting his breath sweep across the sensitive skin. “Look at these perfect pink lips, Dovahkiin. You have the pussy of a queen.”

You could hardly breathe after that statement, but you needed that beard to scratch your itch. “If you’re a king, then you should give it a kiss.” Propping up on your elbows, you watched a dangerous shadow creep across his face. His eyes locked with yours, and every filthy thought you ever had was consumed in those sharp blue irises.

Ulfric’s response was to bury his mouth into you, his prominent nose jostling your nub. A long tongue lapped along your folds, drawing a filthy whimper out of you. You watched through fluttering lashes as he bathed your core in hungry kisses, setting every nook and cranny between your thighs on fire. He growled as his eyes rolled back in his head, “your cunt tastes like honey, little thief.” His thick tongue started to roll around your clit, encouraging blood to flush the tender bud. Your elbows could no longer support your shivering body as he started to suck on the engorged bundle of nerves, little mewls escaping your lips. “But I’ll need you absolutely dripping if you’re going to take my cock.”

Two thick fingers slowly worked their way into your core, curling into that sweet spot. The way his calloused fingertips teased your inner walls in time with his vigorous lapping tongue had you scooting further down the bed, trying to connect with more of his face. You loved the sound of his mouth on your body, drinking you down like mead. Soon, you were gripping fistfuls of hair on the side of his head, trying to drag your sex over the swell of his tongue so deep that you suffocated him. You were practically riding his face, singing praises at the top of your lungs.

When you came around his fingers, he continued to stroke and suck, insistent on making you climax again. Once, you had heard a priestess of Diabella speak of being kidnapped by a beautiful spriggan. The forest spirit had laid her on a bed of soft mountain flowers and pleasured the maiden until she climaxed not just once, but again while she was still experiencing the first orgasm. She said it had been her goddess’s greatest blessing, but you believed it was a yarn told to attract more followers. Now, you believed her.

Ulfric had to fix your thighs in place as your voice began to croak between screams, eyelids painted with swirling stars and the twin moons of Tamriel. You called his name again and again until you could no longer breathe. Only then did he slow, dragging his fingers out, covered in a creamy sheen. “You’re rather loud for a thief. I’m surprised my guard hasn’t stormed in to see if I am killing you.” He pressed his wet digits to your lips, watching you polish them clean.

“He probably would have, if I hadn’t drugged the poor man.” Your laugh was delirious and heady, undone by the Jarl’s ministrations.

Ulfric crawled over you, planting kisses along your stomach, chest, and neck until his tongue ran up the shell of your ear. “How devious, Dovahkiin. I suppose I shouldn’t hesitate to see how loud I can make you, then?” Looking down between your body, you saw him fisting his length before he brought the head to slap across your clit. “I bet I can make you roar as you cum on my cock.”

Biting your lip, you gave him a coy look. “But how are you going to fit?”

His cockhead rubbed at your clit before slapping along your slit again. “You sound wet enough to me, little thief. And there is nothing keeping me out of that perfect little cunt.” Aligning himself with your entrance, he started to slowly push in until just the head breached. He delved no further, instead making short thrusts, moving the spongy tip in and out. 

You tried to push against him, to bring him further inside you, but one hand pushed down on your mound, “I love what a wanton little whore you are, but I won’t give you any more until you submit.” Every second he withheld from you was another second further into madness.

A whine escaped your lips as you tried in vain to buck into him. “Don’t be such a tease! I need to feel you inside me, Ulfric!” For all the lies you had told in your life, you had never been more honest. You would likely explode if you didn’t feel him bottom out inside you.

His eyes, icy blue almost swallowed with dark arousal, locked onto yours. “If you need it, little thief, you know what to say.” He stilled, letting the head of his cock keep your swollen lips pried open, promising just how full you could be. “Two words, and I will ravish that pretty pussy like no man ever has or will.”

You crumbled in the wake of his temptation. “My lord! Please fuck me, my lord!”

‘Full’ could not begin to describe how you felt when he forced his entire cock inside you. You were opened. Stretched. _Stuffed_. You almost came from the way his body slammed into yours, both of your bodies vibrating with pleasured groans. With his hip flush with yours, he started grinding against you, letting you feel how his mammoth length could stimulate every area at once. “Divines! You feel so good inside me!”

“Nothing could compare to your cunt, little thief,” his praise reverberated through you. A bruising grip on your hips pushed and pulled you along in time with his thrusts. Any movement you attempted was irrelevant: he was having his way with you in any manner be pleased. “I would swear you never had a cock inside you.”

“I never had a cock like yours,” you moaned.

“I never had a cock like yours, ‘_my lord_,’” he corrected you but didn’t slow his deep, even thrusts. Each one of them dragged along the magical bundle of nerves inside, and his hips rubbed against your clit as he sheathed and unsheathed. The Nord was dragging you to the threshold of orgasm before you even had time to adjust to his size. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass, the squish of your mingled precum: it was a siren song and you wanted to dive into the paradise only he could give you.

One of his arms scooped under your knee to drape it over his shoulder, spreading you even wider and allowing him to delve even further into you. “Your cunt takes my cock so well. It’s practically begging for my seed.” You gasped at the filth he purred at you. You loved the idea of him pumping into you until you were so full his cum gushed out, drying sticky along your thighs, evidence of your tryst. It made you flutter and clench around him. “Should I feed this pretty pussy?”

“Please, my lord. Fill me up.”

“Not until you cum for me again, little thief.” He adjusted your position again, dropping one of your legs down in between his own, while lifting the leg on his shoulder to lay flat across his stomach until your hamstrings were straining. Perfectly exposed, he spat onto his fingers and started to make aggressive circles over your pearl as he rutted even faster. The way he gently kissed and nipped at your calf as he savagely pounded into you made you tremble. “Oh, I can feel how much you like this. Let go, little dovah. Let your body submit so I can reward you.”

Your body bowed to his command, the force of your climax rattling your bones. The world exploded in white light, wiping clean the slate of your mind. Your tongue lolled in your mouth as the beast behind you continued to buck until he roared with a massive thrust. You could feel the hot ropes of cum coating your pussy, already seeking out your womb as he made a few more staggering ruts into you. Never had you felt so perfectly fucked. And it had all been by a man who not so long before had planned on killing you.

After a few more gentle rocks, Ulfric let your extended leg drop down across his thigh as he fell to the bed beside you. He spooned behind you, your legs intertwined, and his thick cock still plugging you up even as it softened. “Now that, little thief, was a fuck worthy of a king.”

You nuzzled back into his embrace as his hand reached down to your mound to hold you in place. A large pair of fingers started to trace lazy circles along your clit and where your bodies joined. The gentle teasing prevented you from sinking into a post-coital coma, even as you felt him beginning to nod off behind you.

“Don’t you want to see the evidence of your efforts?” He grumbled as you pushed out of his arms and onto your knees. Eyes that had been sinking closed popped open as you pulled your labia open, letting him see his cum drooling out of you.

“Beautiful,” he whispered as one hand extended to swirl the creamy results of your joining. The bear marveled for a moment, then pulled you down on top of him with a contented smile. Laying across his chest, you were brought eye-level with his inviting nipple. You couldn’t resist the temptation to circle it with your finger. A groan rumbled under you as you gently pinched the sensitive nub, and you could feel his length twitch. “Your guard shouldn’t wake until first light, Your Majesty.” The appellation made him shiver beneath you. “Don’t tell me you’ve already had enough.”

A firm hand smacked across your ass. “Get that mouth to work so you can ride me, little thief.”


	2. Happy Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those of us who like a little fluff...

The blizzard must have passed in the night as the bright fingers of dawn were able to gently rouse Ulfric Stormcloak. The Jarl of Windhelm couldn’t remember the last time he had slept past dawn. Most mornings he awoke deprived of a good night’s rest—his dreams were yet another casualty of the war—but he never felt the desire to curl back under his furs and sink into his mattress. That morning, however, he was willing to send the world away and sleep until midday.

Four times. He had spent his seed inside the Dragonborn four times in a single night. The little thief had him acting like a young buck when she rode him, driving him to starvation for every inch of her pretty flesh. After he came inside her a third time, he thought he would fall into an endless sleep, his cock still buried in between her thighs, but then she whispered devious promises into his ear and tugged at his bruised nipple until he was swelling inside her again. If she had that much stamina in the bedroom, he could only imagine how fierce she would be on the battlefield: he had to have her.

Certain that he could convince her to don Stormcloak blue, he rolled over to a cold, empty mattress. She had managed to leave without disturbing him. Ulfric almost fell back into his pillow, allowing himself one disappointed groan, but he spotted something in the void she should have occupied. A folded piece of parchment with his name hastily scrawled across the front. He picked up the missive and held it close to his still-adjusting eyes.

“_Promise to bring it back in two weeks time. Keep the window unlocked.”_

His eyes snapped to his little finger which was unusually bare. Not only had the little nightingale managed to fly from his bed, but she had also stolen his house seal right off of his hand! He probably should have been furious, but all Ulfric Stormcloak could think about was how long two weeks were.


	3. Dark Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...And those of us who like our endings as black as the shadows under our beds.
> 
> Warning: Non-con/Dub-con. Here be monsters.

You were buried face down in a pillow when you awoke, wrapped in something thick and warm. How long had you been out? Where were you, for that matter?

The telltale aching throb between your legs caught your attention, and memories of the night before, of the thorough fucking you received from the Jarl of Windhelm, flooded your groggy mind. You had somehow managed to fall asleep in his bed, risking discovery by his chambermaids.

You moved to roll over, to pull your body out of the cocoon of furs, but your arms didn’t move up. The sudden realization that your arms were extended above you was a bucket of ice water. You squirmed to glance up at your wrists: you were cuffed and attached to a short chain around one of the bedposts.

“Finally awake, little thief?” You jerked to your side to see the Jarl standing up from his chair by the fire. He was wearing only a robe, but he looked like he had been awake for some time. “Sleep well?”

You continued to tug at the chains, trying to get a sense of how they were constructed. “Apparently like a rock.” They were well made, and from the pearly gleam of the links, they were made from moonstone. You were barely competent as a mage, despite your heritage, but it appeared he wasn’t taking any chances. Normally, you would wonder why someone would have such binds on hand, but given the Jarl’s history with elves, it made sense. What didn’t make sense, was why you were wearing them. “It’s rather rude to tie a lady up when she’s sleeping.” The bear had been receptive to your teasing the night before, perhaps he just needed more coaxing.

He set down the book he was reading to cross over to the bed, hovering over your restrained body. “Good thing I didn’t tie up a lady then.” His eyes were playful, but that didn’t answer your concern.

You shrugged at the insult. “Point taken, but you also don’t need to tie up a woman who is more than willing to fuck you.” You used your best come hither eyes, earning a pleased smile. It was true: you would be more than happy to ride him again if he would just unchain you and instead pin you down with his massive cock. “Please release me, Ulfric.”

Blues the color of ice melt meandered down your body as he pulled back the furs. The chill of the Eastmarch made your nipples pinch and peak, but it was the intensity of his gaze that made you shiver. “I believe we established last night that you are to call me ‘Lord.’”

You had to roll your eyes at his comment. “I may have humored you, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that you have chained me up. Are you planning on having me thrown in the dungeons, after all?” If Ulfric was going to imprison you, he would have done so the night before. There was no honor in capturing you now, after you had mussed his bed with your sweat and scent and cum. He must have wanted something.

“Not at all. I plan on keeping you here.” His calloused fingertips caressed your pink buds, gently pinching them until you closed your eyes and whimpered.

As his hand abandoned your peaks for the curve of your belly, you attempted to catch his gaze. “Very cute. I appreciate the sentiment, last night _was_ exceptional,” you spread your legs so he could see the bruised state of your cunt, already wet for him, “but as we established, I am a busy woman. Can’t be playing ‘Naughty Thief and the Lusty Jarl’ all day.” You could, however, definitely be convinced to stay for a few rounds that morning.

“Don’t worry, Dovahkiin, this is no game.” Then his hands dipped along your open folds, pushing around the slick of your flower. It had to be how hot the men of the North were that let them survive the cold.

His comment raised your eyebrow, but you still tried to flirt with your body, rolling your hips against his attentive hands. You were starting to get needy for more than his teasing. “So you _are_ throwing me in the dungeon?”

One finger dipped into your center, creating a mewling noise in your throat as it rubbed the magical spot inside. “No. I’m keeping you here until Wuunferth can come here to bind you. Can’t have my future queen running off.”

Your thighs snapped together around his arm. “Excuse me—what?”

Ulfric easily pulled his appendage from the grip of your legs. Moving onto the bed, he kneeled before you, prying your limbs open to hold them down with his own knees. The movement pulled his robe open enough that is hard length poked out, one eye stealing a glance upon its desired destination. “I’m not delusional enough to think I can subjugate a dovahkiin with my cock, as much as I would like to try.”

You squirmed as his digit returned to your wet hole, plunging in and out. “You are delusional if you think there is any way I will stay here, that you can keep me here.” He may have caught you the night before, but it was a mistake that would not be repeated. You were a daughter of Nocturnal, a Nightingale. There was no way he could hold you.

“I’m certain even you know the power of old magics, little thief. And we both know you can’t win against me in a fight.” He leaned over to press a kiss to your neck, followed by a quick bite, causing a yelp. “Best be good and submit to your King.”

“Never in a thousand years, Nord.” You fixed a death glare on your captor. His joke had gone far enough. There was no way he was serious about holding you. There had to be another angle.

“I’m curious, do you think my blood will win out, and you’ll give me more bears, or will I be able to breed you for dragons?” he flashed his canines at you, pushing a second finger inside.

“Breed?!” Your eyes went wide as a mix of fear and arousal flushed through you.

The jarl ignored your response, instead bringing his other hand down to start rolling your clit. Your traitorous cunt responded immediately. “One of the duties of a queen, but one I’m sure we’ll both enjoy. Your belly is perfectly ripe for bearing my sons. There will be some who dislike the idea of a Breton queen, but I think the Dragonborn can change their minds.” He pulled out his fingers with a satisfied sneer, brandishing the condemnation of how wet you were before sucking them clean with a groan. “Besides, I’m eager to fuck you until you are bursting with my seed.” You hated how your body responded to the threat. The conflict ate at you.

Pulling open his robe, he began running his cock along your entrance, rubbing the head against your clit. “Nocturnal will see to my freedom,” you spat.

An ugly sneer curled his lips as he dipped just the tip into your entrance. “I should have known you were pledged to some Deadra like a heathen.” He started making awful, shallow thrusts, causing an involuntary squirm. “Shall we worship the others in our bed, as well? I’m certain it would please Hircine for me to mount you like a bitch in heat.” He punctuated the filthy words by snapping his hips, finally sinking all the way in.

Your protests were choked, full of hatred and lust. “You will burn, Ulfric.”

One hand continued to lavish your pearl with attention with the other dragged you up and down his length. He let himself completely hilt and grind against you, forcing your hips to make little circles against his. “Sanguine would love to watch you ride me, I’m sure. Or maybe we will make an offering to Malog Bal now and again, letting your lovely ass swallow my cock.” Your face burned.

“I will give my soul to Sithis before I let that happen.” The only resistance came from your words, as your motions created saccharine, slippery sounds.

His eyes were fixed where your bodies joined, his cock gliding in and out. Your arousal was humiliating. “So feisty. Don’t worry, after our firstborn, I’ll let you fight again. Maybe even have you lead my armies.”

Tugging again and again at the chains, either for escape or purchase, you screamed in frustration. “Wrong! As soon as you untie me, I will gut you like a beast.”

He grabbed at one of the bed curtains and savagely tore a scrap from it. “No, I don’t think you will. I think you will be bound to me.” With one hand, he pressed along the sides of your jaw to force your mouth open, and with the other he stuffed the scrap deep in your mouth, gagging you. Then his hands returned to their steel grip on your hips, and began his bruising thrusts again. “Sleep in my bed every night, take my cock whenever I wish, fight in my army to make me High King, then serve as my queen and become heavy with a litter of pups for me.” His claims were punctuated by the head of his cock ramming into your cervix, both painful and perfect.

Every word made your skin crawl in disgust, but also quiver with arousal. You craved his attention, his praise, but you feared the future before you. With the gag firmly in place, there was no way you could convince him anymore.

After a few more rough thrusts, complemented by hands that squeezed your breasts and abused your sensitive points, he flipped you over, mangling your arms in the chains as he forced you onto your knees. “I think I’ll be able to fill that queenly cunt before the mage arrives. Best start now, since we’re going to keep trying until it takes. Probably long after that too.” With that, he slammed into you again, filling every inch. The gag in your throat did little to stifle your sobs, but the relentless pounding slowly transformed them, until you were moaning through the tears.

“What do you think of that, Dovahkiin? Lying in my bed, your breasts heavy with milk for the future rulers of men, while your cunt milks the High King of Skyrim’s cock?” A sharp smack connected with your ass, then another, each time causing you to buck and squeal.

“Talos truly rewards his followers. Fuck, I’ve been a patient man, waiting for the right woman. I fight for him, and he sends me the tightest cunt in all Tamriel.” His large body curled over yours, his prominent nose taking deep breaths from your hair as he relished in your cries.

“And fuck, you are so tight, little thief. Just squeezing my cock.” Ulfric was fucking you like a man possessed, his massive length pushing and pulling you open with uncomfortable speed. The force of your flesh against one another burned you from tip to tail.

“Not just that, but he gives me the Dragonborn. Fuck! Going to fill you up till you are bursting with little dragons for me.” Gripping your neck, he pulled you up to your knees so you were flat against his back, the chains around your wrists nearly rending your arms from their sockets. His hold on your neck cut off your air, giving you tunnel vision. The lack of oxygen made your body tingle, pumping adrenaline into every vein and muscle fiber.

His other hand abandoned the vice-like grip on your hip to abuse your clit, rubbing the nub with furious precision. “Come on little dragon, cum on my cock, take my seed nice and deep.” All of the sensations rattling through you had you racing towards the ledge.

“That’s right, cum for your king!” You couldn’t stop yourself. His cock slammed perfectly in time with just the right pull of your clit and you were clenching furiously around him, your legs buckling beneath you. Even as tears tumbled over your cheeks, your body was flush with pleasure. Your throbbing cunt pulled greedily on Ulfric inside you, and the monster snarled into your shoulders as he bucked furiously. You could feel his cock pulse white-hot cum into you, could feel it quickly search an escape from your overfilled hole. He thrust madly, continuing to rub your clit until you finally screamed against your gag from oversensitivity, satisfied he had taken all he could from you, even as his cock started to soften.

You felt a scratchy chin along the side of your face as he kissed your temple. “Think of it this way, little thief: you’ll be more than welcome to my signet ring then.” He slipped the cruel silver object over your thumb as his cock and seed slipped out.


End file.
